Sound, Silence and Solace
by MBradford
Summary: Third in a series, following "In Safekeeping" and "The Way of Vengeance". Sam must help Frodo to deal with the emotional fallout from his ordeal in Bywater. There will be two versions of chapter 3 - one WITH SLASH and one WITHOUT.
1. Sound

Sound, Silence and Solace  
  
-Mbradford  
  
Summary - Third in a series, after "In Safekeeping" and "The Way of Vengeance". After being rescued from Bywater, Frodo tries to cope with the emotional aftereffects of the traumatic experience. Sam does his best to help.  
  
Drama/angst/romance Rating: PG - 13  
  
Warnings: Frodo/Sam slash (minor)  
  
Disclaimer: They aren't mine, they're Professor Tolkien's. Doing this for nothing but the thrill.  
  
Author's notes - Plotbunnies must kept in separate hutches, or they will multiply. When I picked up that first plotbunny for "In Safekeeping", little did I know it was about to give birth to a litter of its own. A few thousand words and much lost sleep later, Frodo and Sam are back and the healing process continues.  
  
Chapter 1 - Sound  
  
Frodo stood in the kitchen staring absently out the window into the garden. The sun was high and brilliant in a cloudless sky, the birds were singing blithely and the breeze was playing in the leaves of the trees and whispering through the green grass. He barely noticed the beautiful late summer day unfolding before him. With a blank expression, he turned away from the window and sighed.  
  
To say that he hadn't been himself lately would be an understatement. At times things would be almost normal, nearly unchanged. Old routines would proceed smoothly, conversations would flow easily, his thoughts would not stray to - to that place, to what happened to him there.  
  
Bywater. Two weeks had passed since Sam, Merry and Pippin had rescued him from the abandoned smial where he had been held captive by Rushford Bramblethorn. He was home at Bag End now, and had recovered - on the surface at least - from the horrifying experience.  
  
His kidnapper had been dealt with, of course. Bramblethorn had undergone public humiliation and was cast out of the Shire once again. The big folk would incarcerate such an individual to keep him from committing further offenses, but such measures were unknown within the normally peaceful borders of the Shire. Historically speaking, they had not been needed.  
  
Having been on display in the town squares of the major settlements, Bramblethorn was seen my much of the population of the Shire and would be quite recognizable should he attempt to return again. When Bramblethorn had been brought to Hobbiton, Frodo had felt an uncontrollable urge to speak with him, to face him one last time. Seeking closure, he had stood, accompanied by a Shirriff, and spoken briefly with his enemy.  
  
The conversation had been somewhat beneficial to Frodo, being the first step in a process of healing. Having faced the physical reality of his tormentor, Frodo now found himself facing the memories. They were lingering stubbornly, coming from nowhere and everywhere at once.  
  
Frodo sipped his tea as he walked into the parlor and seated himself in Bilbo's old armchair. What would Sam say if he knew Frodo had been sleeping in that chair far more often than in his bed lately?  
  
He had tried to sleep in his bedroom a few times, but found himself struggling every time he crossed the threshold of the room where Bramblethorn had stepped from the shadows and grabbed him. His heart would begin to beat faster as he walked down the hallway, candle in hand, and he would find himself stopping on the threshold and taking a deep, shuddering breath before entering. Should he succeed in getting that far, he would place the candle on the bedside table and allow it to burn through the night. He found he couldn't bear the darkness and the memories that went with it.  
  
Sam would chide him, certainly. And if he knew that Frodo had actually gone, unaccompanied, to face Bramblethorn in the town square the night before he was cast out, Sam would have been distraught beyond expression.  
  
Sam had been more than wonderful over the past two weeks, seeing to Frodo's every need, including those of which he was not even aware. Breakfast would be ready in the morning at just the right time. Fresh flowers from the garden were ever present, and a hot bath steaming fragrantly without any request being voiced.  
  
A sound came to him now from beyond the kitchen window, the sound of Sam whistling as he walked from the garden to the front door. Sam had taken to whistling a tune at considerable volume as he neared, so as not to startle Frodo when he tapped on the door and entered the parlor.  
  
Frodo found he was easily startled since his homecoming. Only the previous afternoon, he had leapt from his chair and nearly fainted when Sam accidentally dropped a book on the floor of his study. The reaction had been completely involuntary but had been surprisingly intense, and Sam had rushed to his side and supported him as he made his way back to his chair again.  
  
He knew, Frodo thought with a pang of shame. Sam knew he was still frightened, still trying to pull himself together. Frodo wished he could rid himself of the fears that haunted him so that Sam wouldn't be hurt by seeing him so.  
  
Sam tapped on the door and opened it slowly, speaking softly as he did. "Mr. Frodo? I've got those green beans picked and ready for snappin'. I'll just get a bowl from the kitchen." He paused by the armchair and looked down at Frodo with that expression of concern he now wore so frequently in his master's presence. "Is there anything you need, Mr.Frodo?"  
  
"No, Sam, thank you," Frodo said, smiling with an effort. "There's tea ready, if you'd like to join me."  
  
"Aye, I will at that," Sam replied. He found himself consciously trying to make his reply sound light and natural. He set the basket of beans down beside a chair by the hearth, and walked into the kitchen. Having located a large bowl for the beans and the aforementioned tea, he poured himself a steaming cup and went back into the parlor.  
  
Easing himself into the chair across from Frodo, he took a sip of his tea and began to snap the beans into the bowl on his lap. They made a crisp noise as he broke them into small sections and dropped them into the bowl. He looked up and saw Frodo staring fixedly at his hands, as he snapped the beans - no, not at them, but past them, at nothing.  
  
"Mr. Frodo? Are you all right?" he asked, pausing mid-bean.  
  
"What? Oh. Yes, Sam. I'm fine. I was just - thinking," Frodo replied as he sipped his tea again.  
  
"An' I can guess as to what about, meanin' no disrespect," Sam replied, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. He had tried before to get Frodo to open up about what was bothering him. Frodo had spoken briefly about his feelings the first night back from Bywater, but had uttered barely a word to him regarding his recent ordeal since that evening.  
  
"I'm sorry, Sam," Frodo replied, examining the teacup in his own hand. "I know I'm not myself lately. I just feel so - so strange, as if everything around me has changed somehow." He swirled the tea in the bottom of the cup, and looked up into Sam's concerned face. "But none of it has changed. It's me. I'm sorry to burden you with my brooding, Sam. I know you've been worried."  
  
"Aye, Mr.Frodo. I've been worryin' a fair bit," Sam admitted, his eyes not leaving Frodo's. "I want to help you, but I don't know how."  
  
Frodo's eyes had taken on that cloudy, haunted look again, and a single tear escaped and slid down one cheek. "Sam - "  
  
Sam placed the bowl on the floor and moved his chair closer to Frodo's. He reached across the space between them and took Frodo's hands in his, patting them gently. "It's all right, Mr. Frodo, I'm here if you need me."  
  
"I always need you, Sam," Frodo replied softly. "And you're always there, as if you can hear my thoughts before I've spoken them."  
  
Sam colored at the compliment. He couldn't hear Frodo's thoughts, that was absurd. But there were other, very visible signs of Frodo's distress that were plain as the daylight. The dark circles under his eyes were a tell tale sign of sleeplessness. If Frodo asked him, Sam would sit through the night beside him, to be a comforting presence, keeping the dreams at bay. Frodo had asked this of him but once, on his first night home since his captivity in Bywater. Since then, he had been valiantly trying to face each moment and each memory unaided.  
  
"Mr. Frodo," Sam began, "I can't read your thoughts and all. I just know you." He looked down at Frodo's hands in his own as he spoke. "I know them circles under your eyes mean you've not been sleepin', and I see you jump when there's a noise nearby."  
  
"You miss nothing, that's certain," Frodo replied, pulling himself together somewhat. "I will be all right, Sam. I just need time." He squeezed Sam's hands gently, acknowledging them for the steady support they were.  
  
Sam nodded. "I can give you time, Mr. Frodo. I'll give you anything you ask of me, if you only will."  
  
Frodo smiled and hugged Sam gratefully. How could he ask Sam to do any more than he already did? He felt he had to conquer his fears and memories himself. He had to keep trying. This could not go on forever, could it? Sleepless nights would fade into pleasant dreams eventually, and sudden noises would become but unnoticeable sounds of normal activity. He would not burden Sam any further with his foolishness.  
  
"I know, Sam. Believe me, I do," Frodo said as he slowly stepped back and out of the embrace. "And if I can think of any need you have not already anticipated, I will call upon you."  
  
Sam nodded, understanding that there was nothing more Frodo would divulge at this time. Was it just that Frodo didn't want to burden him with his fears and sorrow? Or were the memories so horrible that he could not yet give voice to them in the presence of another? Sam fervently hoped for the former. He could stand it if Frodo were just being considerate of his feelings.  
  
What could have happened in Bywater to cause such lingering pain and terror? He ached to think of the things Frodo had endured and now carried deep inside his heart. If only he could chase the shadows from his master's mind and soul! But how?  
  
~*~  
  
When nightfall came and all the day's chores were completed, Sam stood at the door of Bag End, reluctant to leave Frodo alone with the thoughts that disturbed him. ~Mind your place, Samwise Gamgee,~ he counseled himself silently. ~If he wants you lingerin' about, he'll say so.~  
  
"Good night, Sam," Frodo said almost as warmly as usual. "You mustn't worry about me. You should be getting your rest before working in the garden all day, not watching over a grown hobbit who should be able to care for himself."  
  
"If you say so, Mr. Frodo," Sam answered, trying hard not to look at his feet. "But if you need anythin' at all, any time, you'll ask me?"  
  
The almost pleading note in Sam's voice went straight to Frodo's heart and he felt a stab of guilt. The last thing he wanted was for Sam to feel hurt at being sent away, but Frodo was determined to manage on his own through the hours of darkness. "I promise. I'll see you in the morning."  
  
"Good night, Mr. Frodo," Sam replied and turned down the path for home.  
  
~*~ To be continued~*~ 


	2. Silence

Endymion - Thanks for being the first to review! Yes, Frodo and Sam do need to talk. Right now the only "sounds" involved are the ones that either give Frodo a start or let him know his Sam is nearby.  
  
QTPie - 2488 - Poor Frodo is still a bit freaked out, perhaps more so than he's willing to admit to even his closest friends.  
  
FrodoBaggins1982 - We need to get those two talking, don't we?  
  
Misstook1420 - Lots of comfort and fluff? We can manage that, I think, eventually. To me, that fits in with the theme of "mild" slash. Let's just say I will leave something to the imagination rather than telling all!  
  
Safjazz - What can Sam do to break through Frodo's barriers? We'll have to sit them down together and find out! At this point, Sam himself is unsure what to do.  
  
ZoSo Gamgee - Baggins - "Let's hope we hear no more of that lumbering Uruk - Hai Bramblethorn". Another great epithet for a nasty villain! I'm getting a good collection of them, and he deserves them all! All that angst and those bottled up emotions! Workin' on getting Sam and Frodo a little time to settle things, certainly!  
  
Aelfgifu - Yes, everyone should have their own Sam when things get rough.  
  
Aratlithiel - Frodo needs Sam, but he's stubbornly trying to just 'deal with it.' Poor Sam doesn't want to pressure Frodo, so he's just waiting anxiously for Frodo to open up.  
  
~*~  
  
Author's note - Coming soon, two versions of Chapter 3! You can choose your chapter with a dash of slash, or lightly sweetened with extraordinary friendship and loyalty. Both will be posted at the same time and should appear with the slash version being Chapter 3 and the non - slash being Chapter 4. Enjoy!  
  
~*~  
  
Chapter 2 - Silence  
  
Frodo stood, and closed his eyes. Bag End was quiet around him as he prepared to face the night. He straightened his shoulders and took a couple of deep breaths to steady himself. Time to try again. He would sleep in his bedroom tonight, but he would allow himself the comfort of the candle on his nightstand.  
  
He padded slowly down the hall, his heartbeat becoming more rapid as he approached the room. This time, he did not stop outside the door, but forced himself to step purposefully across the threshold immediately. It was almost too much, without the brief moment of preparation beforehand. The hand holding the candle was shaking slightly, as he placed it on the nightstand.  
  
He pulled a nightshirt from the armoire and changed quickly, trying not to feel the fabric as it slid over his head and made contact with his chest, trying not to feel - anything. Memories of a touch, unloving and undesired, starting at the base of his throat and moving downward across his chest caused him to catch his breath. Moments later, he realized the muffled sob he had just heard had been his own.  
  
He swallowed hard and tried to get a grip on himself. Pulling himself back with difficulty to the reality of his room and the light of the candle, he slipped beneath the covers and closed his eyes.  
  
Silence. Bag End lay in stillness around him. The only sounds were the crickets chirping outside his window and - the window. He had forgotten to close it. He climbed out of bed and closed the window tightly, making sure the little latch that locked it fell solidly into place. The night air was so lovely, but an open window - no. Not yet.  
  
He climbed back into bed and pulled the covers up snugly to his chin and tried to concentrate on the light of the candle as the yellow flame danced upon the wick. He must bring himself to close his eyes, but that would block out the light. The memory of darkness assailed him again as the silence of the night closed in around him. He remembered being bound and alone in that dark place, with no light and no hope.  
  
Finally, when he could keep his eyes open no longer, Frodo gave in to sleep. It wasn't long before he was dreaming again, the same dream that invaded is nights with an awful regularity recently.  
  
Darkness surrounded him and something or someone touched him, almost gently at first, but more roughly as he struggled. Hands clawed at him and struck him. A scream rose in his throat, but was swallowed up by the inky blackness around him as if it had never been. Laughter, cruel and derisive, filled his ears. If he could hear the laughter, why were his own cries inaudible?  
  
~'You are alone, Frodo. Your gardener isn't here and he isn't coming.'~  
  
The words rang loudly in the otherwise silent room, grim, horrifying and final. Unable to bear the future those words promised, Frodo cried out in desperation and misery. "NOOOOOOOOO!"  
  
Sitting bolt upright, his eyes wide and his breathing labored, Frodo stared at the light of the little candle on the table and heard the echoes of his cry lingering in his room. The voice that was silenced in his dream was clearly back with him now, and he bowed his head, blinking away tears of frustration.  
  
He lay down again, trying to focus on the candle, on thoughts of things that brought him peace. Every time he felt he was nearing a calmer state of mind, there would be something, an image of a haughty smirk or a suggestive leer, that would interrupt and the fear, shame and dread would return.  
  
It was no use. Sleep remained unattainable, avoiding him utterly. Anxious and frustrated, Frodo grabbed the candle from the nightstand and climbed out of bed again, making for the kitchen. He grabbed the bottle of wine and a glass, and went back to his beloved armchair, in the comfort of the parlor.  
  
~*~  
  
It was getting to be about time to check on Mr. Frodo, Sam realized. Since the morning Frodo had disappeared, Sam had made it part of his daily routine to look in on Frodo every morning and wake him if need be. More often than not, he let Frodo sleep rather than risk startling him. And Mr. Frodo startled so easily lately, Sam thought sadly. He had been extra careful not to come up behind Frodo without making some sort of sound to announce his presence.  
  
Sam leaned the hoe up against the wall of the shed and walked toward Bag End resolutely. He wouldn't necessarily startle Frodo if he didn't wake him. He had promised to stay close to his master and to watch over him. He wasn't going to let his apprehensiveness stop him from keeping such an important promise.  
  
On the way to the front door, he stopped by the window of the master bedroom. Feeling foolish, and perhaps a little bit embarrassed at his boldness, he carefully peered in through the windowpane. Frodo was not there, but at least it looked as though he had been. Sam felt a little more relaxed as he continued on to the entrance of the smial.  
  
He turned the knob, and found that the door was locked. That was good, he reflected, as he drew from his pocket the key Frodo had given him. He turned it in the lock and opened the door, poking his head in for a look around. His eyes roved over the room until they came to rest on Bilbo's armchair, and the back of Frodo's head, propped against the high chair back.  
  
So he had fallen asleep in the parlor then. Sam shook his head. Mr. Frodo should be sleeping comfortably in his bed, not in a chair with his neck at such an odd angle. It would be sore later, or he was an oliphaunt!  
  
He stepped carefully around to the front of the armchair, and then he saw it. The bottle of Old Winyards was more than two thirds empty, and sat beside an empty glass on the table next to the chair. Frodo was sound asleep, all right.  
  
~You mean passed out, Samwise Gamgee, you fool,~ Sam silently berated himself. Was this how Mr. Frodo was easing the troubles from his mind at night? At least Frodo was not in any distress - not yet. It might be another story when he woke up. Being careful not to jostle his master too much, Sam eased his arm behind Frodo's back to support him and tucked his other arm under Frodo's knees, lifting him from the chair.  
  
Sam padded softly down the hall with his burden, thinking how light Mr. Frodo seemed in his arms, as if he were more the stuff of dreams than a living, breathing reality. Frodo's terrifying ordeal had been harder on him than he would ever admit to Sam, but Sam didn't need to be told just how hard it had been. He could see it in the dark circles that still remained under Frodo's eyes, and he felt it now in the tightness of the muscles across his master's shoulders.  
  
Damn Bramblethorn! Damn him to the fires below! Exile was too good for the wretch, Sam thought bitterly, as he carried Frodo into the bedroom and laid him gently upon the soft down comforter. Mr. Frodo deserved better than this lingering terror and anguish. He deserved good health and inner peace. Sam missed the musical laugh and quick, contagious smile, and prayed fervently that he would see them again one day when this storm cloud had passed.  
  
Sam rinsed out a cloth in cold water in the basin, and drew a chair up to the bedside. He opened the window a little to allow a fresh breeze to enter the room, and laid the cloth gently across Frodo's forehead. He would hear it from his Gaffer about not finishing his chores in the garden, but he was sure his reason for abandoning them would be understood.  
  
Mr. Frodo was going to wake up in a bad state, Sam was certain. He prepared himself for a long day's vigil. "Mr. Frodo, I wish you would tell me," he whispered. "Tell your Sam how to help you."  
  
He reached out and took Frodo's pale hand in his own, and placed his other hand on the cloth at Frodo's forehead. "Your Sam's here, Mr.Frodo." And there he remained as the morning passed into afternoon, and the afternoon into evening.  
  
~*~ To be continued~*~ 


	3. Solace SLASH version

ZoSo Gamgee - Baggins - If they sold Sams on Ebay, I think we'd all buy one!  
  
Aratlithiel - How will Sam and Frodo get past those memories that are hanging around? Your question is answered here.  
  
Endymion - Lots of anxiety in that last chapter, on both Sam and Frodo's parts! Now, to see what's going on with our hung over hobbit!  
  
TTTurtle - Poor Frodo! Can Sam get him to talk this time? We'll see! This is the last chapter! Waahhh! What will I do now, I wonder? Adopt another homeless plotbunny perhaps.  
  
Chapter 3 - Solace - the SLASH version  
  
Sam had risen from his chair and was gazing out the bedroom window. Several times during the day, Frodo had awakened slightly, but only enough to groan softly and burrow back into the pillows again. Another soft moan drew Sam back to the bedside. Frodo had opened his eyes and was looking up at him in confusion.  
  
"Sam, how - how did I get here?" He gasped and put a hand to the cloth on his forehead. "Ohhh, m'head hurts," he mumbled.  
  
"You were in the parlor, Mr. Frodo, " Sam said quietly, resuming his seat. "I brought you here. You'd been - that is, you seem to have had- " Sam blushed slightly, frustrated with the trouble he was having telling his master of the state in which he had been found.  
  
"Wine," Frodo breathed, still holding the cloth to his aching head. "Too much. Couldn't sleep." Frodo let his hand fall away from his forehead to his side, letting it rest against the soft fabric of the comforter.  
  
Sam quickly took the cloth to the basin and dipped it in the cold water again. He wrung it out and placed it back on Frodo's forehead very gently. "I'm goin' to stay right here with you, Mr. Frodo, I promise," Sam told him, again taking the thin, long-fingered hand into his own.  
  
"I'm glad, Sam. I'm sorry - "  
  
"Don't you be sorry, Mr. Frodo," Sam said firmly. "You've been holdin' some hurt inside, I know," Sam said softly as he lightly brushed a stray curl out of Frodo's eyes. "I see it behind your eyes, when you look away at nothin'," he said. "You flinch at the smallest sound if it happens sudden like."  
  
"Oh, Sam," Frodo breathed, closing his eyes. "I don't mean to hurt you with my foolish behavior. I just can't burden you with - "  
  
"Burden me?" The depth of the distress in Sam's voice caused Frodo to stop short. "Nothin' you could do or say could be a burden to me, Mr. Frodo," Sam continued, his eyes pleading. "What burdens me most is that you won't let me in. You won't let go of whatever's hurtin' you and let me take it for you."  
  
"But Sam, you don't know what you ask!" Frodo exclaimed, immediately wishing he had kept his voice lower. He continued more quietly. "I cannot ask you to bear for me what I cannot bear myself."  
  
"Mr. Frodo," Sam answered quietly, "It's the very fact that you can't bear it that worries me." The cool, damp cloth had fallen away from Frodo's forehead against the coverlet and Sam replaced it very tenderly. "If you can't bear it, don't. Let it go."  
  
Frodo looked very pale, and Sam realized he was in no condition to discuss the things that distressed him. "You need to rest for now, Mr. Frodo. I'll make you something for supper later on and we'll set you to rights, we will."  
  
Sam rose from the bedside and slipped out of the room briefly. He returned a few moments later with a small pitcher of water and poured some into a glass, holding it to Frodo's lips so he could drink.  
  
Frodo sipped it cautiously, knowing he needed it but not wanting to move his pounding head if he could help it. At least he wasn't overly nauseous. His stomach was telling him it didn't want food yet, but as long as he lay still, he didn't feel as though he would throw up. He lay back against the pillows with a sigh of relief and his eyes fluttered closed.  
  
"Sam. My Sam, thank you," he whispered.  
  
Sam forced himself to smile through his anxiety. "You just keep still and rest until you feel stronger, Mr. Frodo." He would stay at Frodo's bedside until his master was sleeping. He would then set about making something for him to eat later, when he was feeling better. It would be a late meal, by the look of things.  
  
~*~  
  
It was late. The sun had set and the candle stood burning on the nightstand. The aroma of chicken broth floated through the open door into the bedroom and Frodo woke. He felt much better for having rested, and the ache in his head had subsided to a dull throbbing in the background. The glass of water was easily within reach and he drained it eagerly as Sam stepped through the door holding a tray.  
  
Sam's words repeated in his mind as he placed the glass back on the bedside table. 'Let it go.' Sam's words were simple, yet more eloquent than the finest Elvish poetry, spoken in perfect honesty. Was that what he needed to do to banish the horrible images from his mind?  
  
"I've got some nice hot soup for you, Mr. Frodo," Sam entered the room with a tray in his hands, and placed it on the nightstand. "You look much better, if I may say so, Sir."  
  
"I feel quite a bit better, thanks to you, Sam." Frodo smiled as he sat up slowly. "It was a foolish thing I did last night, most certainly," he confessed rather sheepishly. He took the spoon and tasted the broth. "It's heavenly, Sam. Thank you."  
  
"You're welcome, Mr. Frodo," Sam replied, seating himself again.  
  
Frodo made short work of the broth and the piece of bread Sam had brought him. It was not a large meal, but he didn't think he could handle much more just yet. He now remembered why he was not given to drinking large amounts of alcoholic beverages.  
  
When Frodo finished the broth and bread, Sam took the tray away and returned to fix him with a stern gaze. "Mr. Frodo," he began slowly, not wanting to 'get above his station,' as his Gaffer would say. "Why were you - begging your pardon, Sir - sleeping in the parlor?" He flushed slightly as he continued. "You would have been better off here, in your bed."  
  
Frodo knew he wouldn't be allowed to put Sam off for much longer regarding his current state of mind. Sam missed nothing. "It's so hard for me, Sam," he began. "It starts when I get close to this room. It's just like it was that night." The faraway look began to creep back into Frodo's features as he continued. "I walk in with the candle and set it down." his voice began to tremble slightly. "I know there's nobody else here, but I can still feel - " he broke off, feeling his control beginning to waver.  
  
"It's all right, Mr. Frodo," Sam soothed. "Tell me."  
  
"I can still feel his presence behind me. I can hear his voice in my ear and feel him - feel his hands on me. And when it's dark - " he stammered, his voice breaking, "when it's dark I hear him saying again that I am alone, and that you aren't going to come - "  
  
"But you're not alone, Mr. Frodo," Sam said. "You won't be, not ever. He lied to you, no mistake."  
  
"Yes, Sam. But then, it seemed - " Frodo had to stop and try to calm himself before going on. "It seemed as if the darkness was all that was left to me. Just the darkness, the pain and - and him." Frodo was trembling now, overwhelmed by the vividness of the memory. "If you hadn't come, Sam, he would have - he would -" Frodo couldn't finish, a sob rising in his throat and cutting off his words.  
  
Sam couldn't bear it anymore. He sat on the bed and held Frodo as the fear and misery he had been holding back broke forth in a wave of bitter tears. "He's gone, Mr. Frodo. He won't touch you again. Not ever." Sam said, rubbing Frodo's back gently.  
  
Frodo calmed slowly, allowing Sam to soothe him. Sam's fingers had moved to the back of his neck, combing slowly through the curls that lay against it. Frodo took several deep breaths and spoke again, before his resolve could fail him.  
  
"Sam, I nearly escaped him," Frodo breathed. "I severed my bonds on the edge of a broken hearthstone, but he heard me as I opened the door." Frodo's fingers tightened on Sam's arm as he unburdened himself. "I ran into the forest, but he caught me, Sam!" He started to tremble again. "He caught me and struck me unconscious, then he dragged me back and left me in that room where you found me."  
  
Fire flared in Sam's eyes but his arms were gentle as he hugged Frodo and spoke soft words of encouragement. "You tried, Mr. Frodo. I know you did. I know you didn't go easy," Sam said as he fought his own tears.  
  
"I was beaten when I defied him, and - " Frodo ground his teeth and forced the words out. "When he didn't hit me, he - touched me, Sam. I was so hungry, so thirsty and so weak, I - I couldn't stop him! I couldn't!"  
  
"I know, me dear, I know." And Sam did know. He had seen the bruises and he knew how weak Frodo had become by the time he had found him. "It's not your fault."  
  
Frodo seemed not to hear him. His eyes were closed and his forehead rested against Sam's chest as he allowed his tale to make itself known. "When I gave him my signature on that document, I - I begged him to free me. I begged him, Sam!" Frodo gasped as the memory flooded his mind. "He wasn't going to let me go, not ever! I would still be there if not for you, Merry and Pippin."  
  
Choking sobs racked his frame as Sam held him, the poison of his fear and pain draining from him with his tears. "I think he might have killed me, but not before - not until he - " No more words would come. The pain of his bruises, the pangs of his hunger, the fear, loathing and shame poured forth into the protective heart of one who loved him.  
  
The hands that stroked his hair and the arms that encircled him had only the solace of love to offer, only the willingness to take his pain and bear it away. Nothing more could he ask for, and nothing more did he need.  
  
When Sam touched him, he felt safe, and he felt the darkness, his enemy, driven back as if by a gleaming blade as warmth and kindness took its place. He never wanted to move from that embrace again, now that it had been restored to him, seemingly against all possible odds.  
  
Tears still lingering on his lashes, Frodo looked up into Sam's eyes. They were beautiful eyes, the most beautiful he had ever seen. Honest and gentle and looking back into his steadily, shining with tears of their own. He had thought he would never see them again, would never again feel a touch that was gentle and caring. His lips were no more than a whisper from Sam's and he closed the distance between them, trusting.  
  
A few moments later, his lips still burning from the kiss, Sam whispered, "Mr. Frodo?"  
  
"Oh, Sam! Forgive me," Frodo said, beginning to pull away in remorse.  
  
"There's naught for me to forgive," Sam countered, meaning every word. "Mr. Frodo, I know what - what he wanted to do to you. If you don't feel - "  
  
"Sam," Frodo stopped his protests, laying a finger lightly across his lips. "There is nothing in your touch that I fear. You make me feel safe. I need you."  
  
Sam was trembling now as well, overcome by emotion. "I need you too. More than you know, more than I can say. When you were gone, I couldn't see, or hear, or - or breathe." Sam pressed the palm of Frodo's hand flat against his own chest, gently holding it there as his heart pounded. Sam leaned in and returned Frodo's kiss gently, all his being singing as Frodo responded.  
  
"Can you breathe now?" Frodo asked him afterward, and the light Sam had missed lately was dancing in his eyes again.  
  
"Yes, Mr. Frodo. I can." He paused for a moment, and then asked, "Do you feel safe now?"  
  
"Safer than I ever have," Frodo answered earnestly. He pulled back from Sam's embrace very briefly, just long enough to blow out the candle on the bedside table. He was sure he wouldn't be needing it anymore.  
  
~*~ End~*~ 


	4. Solace NONSLASH version

ZoSo Gamgee - Baggins - If they sold Sams on Ebay, I think we'd all buy one!  
  
Aratlithiel - How will Sam and Frodo get past those memories that are hanging around? Your question is answered here.  
  
Endymion - Lots of anxiety in that last chapter, on both Sam and Frodo's parts! Now, to see what's going on with our hung over hobbit!  
  
TTTurtle - Poor Frodo! Can Sam get him to talk this time? We'll see! This is the last chapter! Waahhh! What will I do now, I wonder? Adopt another homeless plotbunny perhaps.  
  
Chapter 3 - Solace - the NON SLASH version  
  
Sam had risen from his chair and was gazing out the bedroom window. Several times during the day, Frodo had awakened slightly, but only enough to groan softly and burrow back into the pillows again. Another soft moan drew Sam back to the bedside. Frodo had opened his eyes and was looking up at him in confusion.  
  
"Sam, how - how did I get here?" He gasped and put a hand to the cloth on his forehead. "Ohhh, m'head hurts," he mumbled.  
  
"You were in the parlor, Mr. Frodo, " Sam said quietly, resuming his seat. "I brought you here. You'd been - that is, you seem to have had- " Sam blushed slightly, frustrated with the trouble he was having telling his master of the state in which he had been found.  
  
"Wine," Frodo breathed, still holding the cloth to his aching head. "Too much. Couldn't sleep." Frodo let his hand fall away from his forehead to his side, letting it rest against the soft fabric of the comforter.  
  
Sam quickly took the cloth to the basin and dipped it in the cold water again. He wrung it out and placed it back on Frodo's forehead very gently. "I'm goin' to stay right here with you, Mr. Frodo, I promise," Sam told him, again taking the thin, long-fingered hand into his own.  
  
"I'm glad, Sam. I'm sorry - "  
  
"Don't you be sorry, Mr. Frodo," Sam said firmly. "You've been holdin' some hurt inside, I know," Sam said softly as he lightly brushed a stray curl out of Frodo's eyes. "I see it behind your eyes, when you look away at nothin'," he said. "You flinch at the smallest sound if it happens sudden like."  
  
"Oh, Sam," Frodo breathed, closing his eyes. "I don't mean to hurt you with my foolish behavior. I just can't burden you with - "  
  
"Burden me?" The depth of the distress in Sam's voice caused Frodo to stop short. "Nothin' you could do or say could be a burden to me, Mr. Frodo," Sam continued, his eyes pleading. "What burdens me most is that you won't let me in. You won't let go of whatever's hurtin' you and let me take it for you."  
  
"But Sam, you don't know what you ask!" Frodo exclaimed, immediately wishing he had kept his voice lower. He continued more quietly. "I cannot ask you to bear for me what I cannot bear myself."  
  
"Mr. Frodo," Sam answered quietly, "It's the very fact that you can't bear it that worries me." The cool, damp cloth had fallen away from Frodo's forehead against the coverlet and Sam replaced it very tenderly. "If you can't bear it, don't. Let it go."  
  
Frodo looked very pale, and Sam realized he was in no condition to discuss the things that distressed him. "You need to rest for now, Mr. Frodo. I'll make you something for supper later on and we'll set you to rights, we will."  
  
Sam rose from the bedside and slipped out of the room briefly. He returned a few moments later with a small pitcher of water and poured some into a glass, holding it to Frodo's lips so he could drink.  
  
Frodo sipped it cautiously, knowing he needed it but not wanting to move his pounding head if he could help it. At least he wasn't overly nauseous. His stomach was telling him it didn't want food yet, but as long as he lay still, he didn't feel as though he would throw up. He lay back against the pillows with a sigh of relief and his eyes fluttered closed.  
  
"Sam. My Sam, thank you," he whispered.  
  
Sam forced himself to smile through his anxiety. "You just keep still and rest until you feel stronger, Mr. Frodo." He would stay at Frodo's bedside until his master was sleeping. He would then set about making something for him to eat later, when he was feeling better. It would be a late meal, by the look of things.  
  
~*~  
  
It was late. The sun had set and the candle stood burning on the nightstand. The aroma of chicken broth floated through the open door into the bedroom and Frodo woke. He felt much better for having rested, and the ache in his head had subsided to a dull throbbing in the background. The glass of water was easily within reach and he drained it eagerly as Sam stepped through the door holding a tray.  
  
Sam's words repeated in his mind as he placed the glass back on the bedside table. 'Let it go.' Sam's words were simple, yet more eloquent than the finest Elvish poetry, spoken in perfect honesty. Was that what he needed to do to banish the horrible images from his mind?  
  
"I've got some nice hot soup for you, Mr. Frodo," Sam entered the room with a tray in his hands, and placed it on the nightstand. "You look much better, if I may say so, Sir."  
  
"I feel quite a bit better, thanks to you, Sam." Frodo smiled as he sat up slowly. "It was a foolish thing I did last night, most certainly," he confessed rather sheepishly. He took the spoon and tasted the broth. "It's heavenly, Sam. Thank you."  
  
"You're welcome, Mr. Frodo," Sam replied, seating himself again.  
  
Frodo made short work of the broth and the piece of bread Sam had brought him. It was not a large meal, but he didn't think he could handle much more just yet. He now remembered why he was not given to drinking large amounts of alcoholic beverages.  
  
When Frodo finished the broth and bread, Sam took the tray away and returned to fix him with a stern gaze. "Mr. Frodo," he began slowly, not wanting to 'get above his station,' as his Gaffer would say. "Why were you - begging your pardon, Sir - sleeping in the parlor?" He flushed slightly as he continued. "You would have been better off here, in your bed."  
  
Frodo knew he wouldn't be allowed to put Sam off for much longer regarding his current state of mind. Sam missed nothing. "It's so hard for me, Sam," he began. "It starts when I get close to this room. It's just like it was that night." The faraway look began to creep back into Frodo's features as he continued. "I walk in with the candle and set it down." his voice began to tremble slightly. "I know there's nobody else here, but I can still feel - " he broke off, feeling his control beginning to waver.  
  
"It's all right, Mr. Frodo," Sam soothed. "Tell me."  
  
"I can still feel his presence behind me. I can hear his voice in my ear and feel him - feel his hands on me. And when it's dark - " he stammered, his voice breaking, "when it's dark I hear him saying again that I am alone, and that you aren't going to come - "  
  
"But you're not alone, Mr. Frodo," Sam said. "You won't be, not ever. He lied to you, no mistake."  
  
"Yes, Sam. But then, it seemed - " Frodo had to stop and try to calm himself before going on. "It seemed as if the darkness was all that was left to me. Just the darkness, the pain and - and him." Frodo was trembling now, overwhelmed by the vividness of the memory. "If you hadn't come, Sam, he would have - he would -" Frodo couldn't finish, a sob rising in his throat and cutting off his words.  
  
Sam couldn't bear it anymore. He sat on the bed and held Frodo as the fear and misery he had been holding back broke forth in a wave of bitter tears. "He's gone, Mr. Frodo. He won't touch you again. Not ever." Sam said, rubbing Frodo's back gently.  
  
Frodo calmed slowly, allowing Sam to soothe him. Sam's fingers had moved to the back of his neck, combing slowly through the curls that lay against it. Frodo took several deep breaths and spoke again, before his resolve could fail him.  
  
"Sam, I nearly escaped him," Frodo breathed. "I severed my bonds on the edge of a broken hearthstone, but he heard me as I opened the door." Frodo's fingers tightened on Sam's arm as he unburdened himself. "I ran into the forest, but he caught me, Sam!" He started to tremble again. "He caught me and struck me unconscious, then he dragged me back and left me in that room where you found me."  
  
Fire flared in Sam's eyes but his arms were gentle as he hugged Frodo and spoke soft words of encouragement. "You tried, Mr. Frodo. I know you did. I know you didn't go easy," Sam said as he fought his own tears.  
  
"I was beaten when I defied him, and - " Frodo ground his teeth and forced the words out. "When he didn't hit me, he - touched me, Sam. I was so hungry, so thirsty and so weak, I - I couldn't stop him! I couldn't!"  
  
"I know, me dear, I know." And Sam did know. He had seen the bruises and he knew how weak Frodo had become by the time he had found him. "It's not your fault."  
  
Frodo seemed not to hear him. His eyes were closed and his forehead rested against Sam's chest as he allowed his tale to make itself known. "When I gave him my signature on that document, I - I begged him to free me. I begged him, Sam!" Frodo gasped as the memory flooded his mind. "He wasn't going to let me go, not ever! I would still be there if not for you, Merry and Pippin."  
  
Choking sobs racked his frame as Sam held him, the poison of his fear and pain draining from him with his tears. "I think he might have killed me, but not before - not until he - " No more words would come. The pain of his bruises, the pangs of his hunger, the fear, loathing and shame poured forth into the protective heart of one who loved him.  
  
The hands that stroked his hair and the arms that encircled him had only the solace of love to offer, only the willingness to take his pain and bear it away. Nothing more could he ask for, and nothing more did he need.  
  
When Sam held him, he felt safe, and he felt the darkness, his enemy, driven back as if by a gleaming blade as warmth and kindness took its place. He never wanted to move from that embrace again, now that it had been restored to him, seemingly against all possible odds.  
  
Tears still lingering on his lashes, Frodo looked up into Sam's eyes. They were beautiful eyes, the most beautiful he had ever seen. Honest and gentle and looking back into his steadily, shining with tears of their own. He had thought he would never see them again, would never again feel a touch that was gentle and caring.  
  
Returning Frodo's gaze, Sam asked him quietly, "Do you feel safe now, Mr. Frodo?"  
  
"Safer than I ever have," Frodo answered earnestly. He pulled back from Sam's embrace very briefly, just long enough to blow out the candle on the bedside table. He was sure he wouldn't be needing it anymore.  
  
~*~ End~*~ 


End file.
